


Something of a Surprise

by queerlyobscure (softestpunk)



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:18:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpunk/pseuds/queerlyobscure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson is a lying liar who lies, and his rendition of SIGN was a lying lie. Holmes points this out and makes a proposal of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something of a Surprise

“Watson.”

Watson knew that tone of voice. It was the exact pitch and tone the made something in his mind trip into apprehension, because it meant he had enacted some slight upon Holmes, whether real or imagined. He couldn't quite think what he had managed to do during the space of time he had been out of the house, since Holmes had been in good spirits with him this morning before he had left, but he had obviously managed to upset the detective in his absence. 

“Holmes,” he nodded at the detective, who was sitting by the window, “good day?”

“For a given value of 'good', I suppose it was. Certainly informative.” Holmes unfolded his legs and stood.

“Oh?” Watson was treading lightly, wary of saying the wrong thing and making whatever was wrong worse. 

“Indeed. Most informative. Mr. Forbes sends his congratulations, by the way.”

“His congratulations?” What on Earth was he being congratulated for? 

“Now that's interesting – your reaction just now was almost identical to mine this morning. I couldn't think for the life of me what you might have done which warranted congratulations from a man you barely know.” Holmes had begun to pace, now, as he did when he was expounding on a problem. Watson shifted his weight in preparation for a lecture of some kind, but didn't dare move to sit just yet.

“It was most vexing, but – you will be pleased to know – I kept my composure and assured him that I would pass it on. It occurred to me, then, that you have just had a book published – perhaps that was what he'd meant. It reminded me that I hadn't had a chance to read it yet; I borrowed your copy for the purpose, I hope you'll excuse the intrusion.” Holmes picked up from his desk a book with the title 'The Sign of Four' printed across the front, and the name John Watson underneath it.

Before Watson could interject that it was, after all, only fiction, Holmes continued, “and I see that congratulations are indeed in order – tell me, how is the new Mrs. Watson, and when might I have the pleasure of meeting her?” Holmes' tone remained light, but his eyes were cold – Watson felt like a particularly unpleasant criminal, being faced down by the detective in this manner.

“Holmes, I... I mean, that is to say-”

“Yes, Watson? Is there something you'd like to tell me?” he waved the book around in a way that might have been menacing had it been any other object. 

The doctor swallowed hard and raised his eyes to meet his friend's, “The thing is, Holmes, I never expected you to read it and it is only a story-”

“Indeed, as the resemblance to the facts of the case are purely nominal at best.” Holmes raised an elegant eyebrow.

“Yes, well. It wasn't a bad story, by itself, but that doesn't mean it couldn't stand some embellishing...”

“Embellishing? And what do you suppose the young clerk, Mr. Harlowe, will think of being transformed into your romantic interest, doctor?” 

“Well, I was rather hoping he wouldn't read it either...” Watson fidgeted with his cane, no longer able to look directly at the detective.

“I should hope so as well, if I were you. I imagine he would not react well to being the damsel of the piece. I also wonder how he would feel about your obvious attraction to him being printed for the general public.”

“Names were changed, Holmes – no-one will ever know who was really at the centre of it all.” Watson could have kicked himself almost as soon as the words left his mouth.

“I notice you failed to deny your attraction to the young man – don't bother now, doctor; I know. Have known for some time, indeed.” Holmes' tone was perfectly neutral as he laid Watson's greatest secret out on the sitting room floor.

“Oh. I see. I...uh,” Watson cleared his throat,”...I'll start looking for new lodgings tomorrow, but it might take-”

“What on Earth for? I mean, I would understand if you'd finally tired of me and wanted to strike out on your own, but I had thought we were getting on rather well lately.”

“I – you mean you don't want me to move out?” Hope sprung up in Watson that all was not lost.

“I'm sorry – did I say I did? I can't remember it, but then perhaps my mind is finally going.” Holmes might have smiled for a split second, but it was too quick for Watson to be sure of.

“I can never decide if you're being serious or trying to be funny.” The doctor sighed and slumped into his usual armchair, the tension that had been holding him upright having broken now.

“My attempts at humour notwithstanding, I cannot see why you should think I would want to be rid of you. Mind, I can see an argument for the reverse, as in your position I would spend much of my time wanting to be rid of me.” The detective folded himself into the chair opposite Watson.

“I...” am an abomination in the eyes of God and man, Holmes, “if not for me to leave, what is it you want of me?”

“Ah, back to the original point. What I want is first refusal.”

“You...first refusal?” Watson felt his brows furrow and he blinked slowly. What could that possibly mean?

“Indeed – should the question of your marriage ever come up, I should merely like to be considered for the position first.” Holmes nodded decisively and fished his pipe out of his pocket, signalling an end to the conversation. 

Watson was left to puzzle out the idea that Holmes had just offered himself as a wife. Perhaps a marriage of sorts was on the cards after all.


End file.
